


Glass Dragons

by Leela



Series: Glass Dragons [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: charlieficathon, Forced Bonding, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Teeth and claws," Charlie exulted. "Oh, Malfoy, I think the wind was right. I am going to like you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass Dragons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngelaSnape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelaSnape/gifts).



> **Beta:** eeyore9990
> 
> Any mistakes in this story are definitely mine and not my beta reader's. I checked the Romanian phrase through two online translators, so it's as accurate as I can make it. Written as a pinch hit for angela_snape in Charlieficathon 2011, who requested "plot with just some snogging" and "forced bonding".

"Your son may not appreciate you doing this to him," Andromeda Tonks said, as she placed the empty pain potion phial on the bedside table. She took a moment to close her eyes and compose herself before turning back to her sister.

"Draco—" Narcissa Malfoy broke off to cough and then to sip at the glass of potion-laced water Andromeda held to her lips. Waving it away, she continued, "I'll hardly be in a position to care what Draco thinks of me by the time he realises what I've done. What matters is that he'll have someone to take care of him, someone who will ensure that he not only survives but thrives."

Blinking back tears, Andromeda took a moment to force her emotions back under control. She could cry when Cissy was gone. Not before. When she was convinced that her voice would remain steady, she asked, "What about an heir?"

Narcissa waved off the objection. "Easily arranged if Draco wishes to continue the Malfoy family line."

"So, you're sure it will be a wizard?"

"I know my son." Narcissa's gaze softened. "Now, enough delay. Let us begin."

With a sigh and a brief prayer to a god she wasn't sure she believed in, Andromeda picked up her wand and Summoned the ritual tray she'd prepared.

o~o~o

English tea, Charlie Weasley thought as he collapsed into a chair in the kitchen at Shell Cottage, was the best thing in the entire world. The strong coffee he drank every morning at the reserve was a barely acceptable substitute for this hot, black, sweet ambrosia.

As he savoured his first mouthful, he looked over to the window. The dragon was there — an Opaleye that he'd given them on his last visit — ensuring that he had a small piece of home to greet him every morning he spent away from it. It was basking in the sunshine, its glass hide casting rainbows over the room. " _Bună dimineaţa_ ," he murmured.

"Good morning to you, too," Bill said, looking cheerful enough that Charlie would have happily hexed him.

Instead, Charlie yawned and scrubbed at his eyes before draining his mug.

"Bad night?" Bill asked, having the decency to bring the pot and toast with him when he took his own seat at the table.

Pausing to refill his tea and snag a piece of well-buttered toast, Charlie glared at him. "Your children make more noise than a herd of dragons."

"Seems quiet enough to me." Bill examined a piece of toast, wrinkled his nose, and discarded it in favour of a piece that was buttered all the way to the edges. "You want noisy, try living in Egypt or staying at the Burrow with Ginny and Harry fighting day and a night."

Charlie shuddered and was about to ask why that pair were still together when a gust of wind came up out of nowhere. It ruffled through his hair, surrounded him with a sweet flowery scent that ought to have been impossible with the windows and doors closed, and disappeared. Without touching Bill.

Disquieted and more than a little worried, Charlie ran his hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp to try and get rid of the strange feeling. Although that didn't really accomplish anything, it did make him feel better. "What the hell was that?"

"Not sure," Bill said, putting his mug down on the table and taking out his wand and beginning to cast spells on Charlie. "Hold still. I want to see what it is and find out why my wards didn't keep it out."

After casting the last of a myriad spells, Bill just stared at Charlie with the kind of contemplative look he used to give his DADA textbooks at Hogwarts.

"Say something?" Charlie prompted him. "Or I'll tell Mum on you."

Bill snorted and shook his head. "I'm a bit old for that to work, don't you think?"

"You'd be the only one of us not scared of her, then."

"Point." Leaning back in his chair, Bill absently slapped his wand against his palm and said, "It was blood magic, pureblood-style. That much I can tell you. I didn't recognise the signature although it did feel vaguely familiar." He frowned. "As if I should know the family."

"How worried should I be?"

"Not too much. It was benevolent, protective." He waved his wand, as if searching for words and then smiled. "Not just for you, either. That was a twined spell."

"Merlin's saggy left tit." Charlie stared down at his hands. Battered, freckled, and burn-scarred like the rest of him, he knew how to use them to pull a man, to dangle him on the edge for as long as possible, but they never seemed capable of keeping him beyond the next month, the next week, or even the next morning. He'd thought he was beyond fretting over that, had accepted the parts of his life that he couldn't change—

"Oi." Bill's shout dragged Charlie away from the once-familiar black hole he'd been about to fall into. "It's not fatal, all right? We can head over to Gringotts right after this morning's decision. I'll get my whole team onto it if need be."

Charlie pulled a face at the reminder of what had got them out of bed too damn early. "I don't suppose we can skip the Ministry and just go straight to your work?"

"Not bloody likely." Bill pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, sending their breakfast dishes over to the sink. "I don't need the Aurors showing up at my doorstep in a couple of hours. Besides Mum would kill us if we weren't there to support the rest of the family."

"It's not as if anything can make up for losing Fred or—" Charlie stopped himself before he mentioned Bill's scars. Even years later, they were still a sore spot. Not in the least because Bill was the only one who didn't seem to think he needed compensation for them.

"A son and two brothers," Bill said. "Not to mention what happened to Ron, George, Ginny, and me."

"Having her house burnt down around her ears didn't help either," Charlie added. "Although I hardly think beggaring the Malfoys will make up for any of it." He frowned, remembering the devastated look in Draco Malfoy's eyes at the previous reparations session. "With his father sent through the Veil and his mother on her deathbed, I don't see much point in punishing him any further."

"They didn't ask us, though, did they?"

"Too busy trying to make themselves feel better for not doing anything when the doing mattered."

"Too right." Bill sighed. "C'mon. Let's go and get this farce over with, so we can get you sorted out."

The feeling of his brother's arm slung companionably over his shoulder did nothing to ease the disquieting flutter at the base of Charlie's throat — the same feeling he got when the Emergency Klaxon Charm went off at the reserve.

o~o~o

Unlike the cavernous stone dungeon on the lowest floor of the Ministry where his trial had been held, and where he'd been exonerated of all charges, the room where Draco Malfoy's life was once again being decided by others was cosy and filled with brilliant sunshine.

He hated it. The warm cherry wood and comfortable cushions were deceptive, encouraging relaxation and trust when he needed all of his wits about him. The wide windows and their expansive view of Muggle London made him want to fly out of there. Away from his judge and jury, the War Reparations Committee, who were poised to take away everything the full Wizengamot had granted him. Somehow, the fact that the three senior committee members who'd gathered to give their verdict were wearing ordinary clothing rather than their plum robes of office only made things worse.

Tiberius Ogden, Head of the Committee, gave the other committee members, Amos Diggory and Hilda Jorkins, a sharp nod, rapped his wand on the table, and began to drone. "Reparations by the family Malfoy to the families Weasley, Thomas, Longbottom, Burbage, and Bones..."

Despite his best efforts, despite the way his insides were twisting, as if they'd been hit with an Entrail-Expelling Curse, Draco could barely follow the legal wording. Not that it mattered. His father was dead, his mother might well be by the time he got out of there, and no one seemed to care that he would have nothing and no one left by the time they were done.

Then Ogden favoured him with a particularly vicious smile, and Draco almost betrayed his worry by clutching at the arms of his chair. The minute finger twitch he hadn't been able to control hardly counted, he told himself.

"That takes care of the financial reparations and brings us to the last item on today's agenda," announced Ogden. "Malfoy Manor and all contents therein is hereby granted to the Weasley family in perpetuity."

Loud murmurs erupted from the crowd behind Draco. Exclamations of shock and surprise and the occasional "Serves him right."

"You can't." Draco just stared at the man. Ogden was a pureblood. How could he not understand the consequences of what they'd done?

Mr Weasley objected, "You can't force us to take that Dark place."

"We can, and we have, Mr Malfoy," sneered Tiberius Ogden. "And, Arthur, if you're refusing the gift, it shall be offered to the next family in line." He licked a finger and ran it down a piece of parchment.

"You don't understand." Draco's heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to come up with something that would avoid the utter disaster of this decision. "The Manor won't accept anyone who isn't a Malfoy or a pureblood bonded to a Malfoy. It will destroy itself rather than allow that to happen, and it will take everyone and everything with it. Including any Malfoy heirlooms anywhere else in the world."

"That's hardly a problem, now is it, Mr Malfoy?" Diggory spoke up for the first time, leaning forward with a nasty, smug expression on his face. "I'm sure someone on this long list of potential candidates would be willing to bond with you in exchange for the Manor. There's always my Amalia if no one else is interested. We know how to handle your kind in my family, after all."

A gust of wind swirled around Draco, disarranging his hair and robes, and leaving an oddly familiar scent in its wake. Before he could accuse anyone of hexing him, a thud had everyone in the room swivelling their heads away from Draco. One of the older Weasley sons was lurching to his feet like a drunkard, his hair flying in all directions, looking as if he was about to fall over.

"I'll do it," the ginger prat blurted out. He pressed a finger to his mouth, as if bewildered by his own utterance.

The Weasley sitting next to him said, "Well, no need for Gringotts after all." He clapped his brother on the back. "Drinks are definitely on you this time."

"Charlie?" Mrs Weasley reached for him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Charlie Weasley said, sounding anything but. Then his hair moved as if in a breeze, he straightened up, and gave his mother a nod. "I'll do it. It's not as if there's a better choice. Our lot are either married or well on their way there. As for—"

Weasley cut himself off and turned from his mother to look directly into Draco's eyes. An unusual warmth filled Draco and washed away his resentment and fear. Instead of succumbing to it, he drawled, "Hope you have the brains to know what you're getting yourself into."

After that, everyone in the room seemed to start talking at the same time. Many of them seemed to be arguing with Weasley. A few of them, including Potter and the Weasley who'd made the odd comment about Gringotts, were clearly supporting him. Draco's Weasley, however, ignored them all and just smiled at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. _What the hell had been his name, anyway?_

A loud rap of wood against wood made Draco and everyone else in the small, crowded room jump. He reluctantly looked away from Weasley and once again gave his attention to the committee members.

"So noted," Jorkins spoke up for the first time. Red wax dripped off the end of her wand onto a piece of parchment, and a circular movement impressed a seal into it. Once that was done, she came around to the front of the table and glanced from Draco to Weasley. Her expression was tight, but it gleamed with something that might have been sympathy. "Well, do come down here, gentlemen."

A shove from behind Draco sent him stumbling out of his seat. He aimed his best withering glare in the general direction of the sniggering twerps in the next row, then he shook his robes into better order and went to stand next to Weasley.

"Face each other, if you would," Jorkins said, "and clasp your left hands."

"No," Draco whispered, nausea once again churning in his stomach as he realised what was about to happen. He went to take a step back, but his hand was already engulfed in Weasley's larger one.

"I might be ginger," Weasley murmured, "but I'm better than any of the alternatives."

"Why aren't you fighting this?" Draco kept his voice equally low.

"The spellwind, at least in part. It springs up and I know this is the right thing to do." Confusion was visible on Weasley's freckled face. "Bill's convinced that that it isn't out to harm me, so..." He shrugged and offered a tentative smile. "Best answer I've got, I'm afraid."

 _I want my mother._ The words screamed inside Draco's head. He didn't want to do this, shouldn't have to do this. He bowed his head and wished that he'd kept his mouth shut, let the Manor kill them all, himself included.

The skin of Weasley's palm was rough against Draco's jaw, but the touch was gentle. "I'll back off if you don't want this, if there's someone else on the list you'd rather have."

Just thinking about the other names on that list made Draco's stomach turn on him again. So, he shook his head and stepped back into place. "You'll do," he said, not able to give him more than that.

Jorkins was about to begin again, when Mrs Weasley stood up. "Oh, I think not. You might be able to force this upon them, but you're not going to bond my son without so much as a nod to the proper honours." Glaring the rest of their audience into silence, she said, "Harry and Ron, you get down there and stand with Draco. Bill, George, you'll do for Charlie."

Potty and Weasel? As his witnesses? Draco curled his upper lip. "I don't need—"

"You most certainly do, young man. They may not be your family, but they were there for you when it counted." As she chivvied everyone into place, Mrs Weasley began digging into her seemingly capacious bag.

"Give it up," Weasel confided, coming to stand on Draco's right. "You'll never win this one."

"God, yes." Potter shivered, taking up a position on Draco's left. "Trust us on this one, Malfoy. Even Voldemort would have had enough sense to do as he was told."

Draco drew himself up and favoured them with a cold sneer. "I hardly—"

This time the wind interrupted him, twining around between him and Weasley, wrapping itself around their joined hands. Surrounding them in a comforting scent that Draco finally recognised. _Mother_ , he thought, and had to lock his knees to stop them from buckling in relief.

"What the hell?" Potter looked ready to pull his wand.

"Let it be," Weasley said, and Draco found himself unable to do anything but look in his eyes. "It's nothing more than a blessing of sorts."

"Don't know what made me start carrying them around, but..." Mrs Weasley pulled out a set of frayed gold and green bonding tethers. "Swore I'd use the Prewett ones for Charlie," she explained, "since there isn't anyone else."

And then the wind calmed down, leaving Draco with the sensation of a soft hand caressing his cheek and the sudden, unacceptable desire to cry all the way through his bonding ceremony.

o~o~o

The strangest thing about Malfoy Manor, Charlie decided, wasn't the haughty man at his side or the imposing and unfriendly presence it exuded over everything in sight. It was the realisation that Charlie felt more comfortable walking through those gates and into its protected silence than into the Burrow.

Like the upthrust and folded rocks of the _Carpaţi_ , the Romanian mountains he'd called home for so long, Malfoy Manor seemed to inhabit its own world. There would be no creaking stairs, no tilted doorways or rattling ghouls. Chaos could exist, but only on the Manor's terms.

Walking through the gates brought an enormous sigh of relief and the sensation that Charlie could once again breathe. For the first time since returning to England, he felt as though his lungs weren't being constricted by the need to allow others to encroach onto his space.

Malfoy stopped in front of the entrance doors and turned to Charlie. His eyes were once again shuttered, as if the grief Charlie had glimpsed at Narcissa Malfoy's funeral had never existed. "I'll add you to the wards after the bonding's completed, not before." Before Charlie had a chance to respond, Malfoy raised a hand and the doors swung open on silent hinges.

Charlie followed him through the entrance hall, up a wide staircase, and down a long hallway to the very end. In the periphery of his vision, Charlie could see portraits moving around. Their whispers were too low for him to hear anything but a series of hushed and unintelligible syllables.

The magical window in front of them showed an image of waves pounding against rocks and cliffs. Fins and tails occasionally rose above the surface for a brief period. The sky was dark, and the moon shone on the water, in direct contrast to the sunlit afternoon outside.

"Give me your hand," said Malfoy, holding out one of his own. When Charlie hesitated, Malfoy huffed, grabbed one of his, and dragged him through the window.

"You could have warned me," Charlie snapped when he had recovered his balance.

"You're right. I could." Malfoy smirked at him.

Not wanting to start something right then and there, Charlie looked away from the very tempting arse that was revealed when Malfoy took off his outer robes. The sitting room was smaller than he'd expected. Three walls were filled with floor to ceiling bookcases that were clearly stacked two deep on some shelves. A fireplace took up the centre of the fourth, with a closed door on one side and a display cupboard on the other.

The door clearly led to the bedroom, but Charlie walked past it and headed for the cupboard. He ran his fingers over the smooth handle of one of the broomsticks hung in the bottom half, ignored the snitches fluttering in their shimmering containers, and stared at the dragons. _His_ glass dragons.

"My mother discovered them," Malfoy said. "She bought me one or two every year, starting on my fourteenth birthday."

Charlie reached out and rubbed the horns on the Chinese Fireball, and the dragon rose up on its hind legs and spread its wings. An image floated up from the depths of his memory, of working with the others, standing over the dragonfyre and shaping the glass with magic, love, and memory.

"They're a fundraiser for your dragon reserve, right? I don't suppose you know the artist?" Malfoy tickled the back paw of the Horntail, deftly pulling his finger away before the dragon lashed its tail and spewed illusory fire.

"Artists," Charlie corrected automatically. At Malfoy's raised eyebrow, he explained, "They're a group effort. Six of us, combining our magic, memories, and skills."

"You?"

"Me, among others," Charlie agreed. The gleam in Malfoy's eyes drew him forward, convinced him to give into the urge to touch the soft, silky hair that hung to just below Malfoy's shoulders. "There's another set," he said, moving his thumbs in broad strokes over Malfoy's high cheekbones. "Come see me at the reserve some day, and I'll show you the private versions."

"An offer that's impossible to refuse." Malfoy grasped Charlie's hands in his own and pulled them away from his face, twining their fingers together. "This is mad. What we're expected to do here. Our families can't stand each other, and all I know about you is that you work with dragons."

"What if I told you there's nothing more to me than dragons?"

"I'd tell you to try again." Malfoy gave Charlie's hands a hard squeeze, digging his nails into the skin. "I'm not a Gryffindor. I've never been that naïve."

"Teeth and claws," Charlie exulted. "Oh, Malfoy, I think the wind was right. I am going to like you."

"Draco."

"What?"

"My name is Draco." His nails dug in a little deeper. "And there's more to me than my last name and—" Draco glanced down at his left arm "—my tattoo."

Without giving Charlie a chance to respond, Draco yanked his hands free and stalked away.

Charlie moved faster, catching up with Draco before he could open the door. Using tricks he'd learned from years of working at the reserve, he spun Draco around and pressed him back against the door.

"Do you mind?"

When Draco scrabbled for the door handle, Charlie grabbed Draco's hands in his own and pinned them against the wood over Draco's head. He moved in closer, placing one of his legs between Draco's, making it impossible for Draco to use his knees to free himself.

"I'm Charlie," he said, "and I don't mind very much of anything." He kissed the corner of Draco's mouth. "My family in England gave me red hair and freckles." He sucked lightly on Draco's lower lip. "My family at the reserve added burn scars and tattoos."

He pulled away enough so that he could look into Draco's wide eyes. "And if you choose to stay with me, they'll all accept you with open arms because I'm bringing you to them."

For a moment, Charlie thought Draco was going to reject him, but then Draco leaned forwards, straining against Charlie's hold, and nipped at Charlie's lips.

"Show me," Draco said, a challenge in his eyes that Charlie hadn't the slightest desire to resist.

o~o~o

Draco's bedroom was dark when he awoke. Charlie grumbled incoherently but didn't move when Draco lifted his head up and pushed the covers back.

The cool air felt good against his bare skin, more familiar than the heat that poured off Charlie. Raising himself on one elbow, he chewed meditatively on his lower lip as he ran his hand over Charlie's back. He felt soft skin, smooth and crinkled scars, and an almost ticklish sensation that meant one of Charlie's dragon tattoos was moving.

He lowered his head down, so his lips were close to where he thought the dragon's head was laying on Charlie's shoulder. "I've made my choice," he whispered. "Don't make me regret it."

Charlie stirred, and Draco held still. When Charlie simply rolled over onto his side, facing away from him, Draco curled around him and closed his eyes.

o~o~o

Andromeda knelt on the grass next to the swirl of marble that protected Narcissa Malfoy's grave. "They returned to Romania today," she said. "Charlie was happier than I've ever known him to be, and Draco was laughing."

She brushed away the red and gold leaves that had fallen onto the stone, exposing the miniature Chinese Fireball that Draco had insisted on securing to the marble, and laid a bouquet beneath the engraved name and dates. Yellow roses, white narcissi, and dragon lilies, her sister's favourite flowers.

"I haven't seen Draco smile so much since you snuck him over to visit when he was five and Dora took him for his first broom ride."

A breeze sprung up, disarranging her hair and scattering more leaves on the grave.

"You were right." An ache in her heart, Andromeda smiled and blinked back tears. "You did know your son."

~fin~


End file.
